


Afterthought

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-04
Updated: 2008-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When two separate people mentioned Marton stories, it occurred to me that I never posted this PWP.  Came to me one time after watching them both in Bourne.  Slightly rough sex, casual, fun for the whole family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterthought

Karl finds Marton in a dressing room one day at the studios in Moscow. They've been shooting indoors on two different sets, and Marton's still wearing the suit from his scene with Matt. He's only there for a week, but he knows Moscow well, and Karl's been grateful for the company. Right now, however, he's much more grateful for a room with a lock on the door, and how goddamned utterly fuckable Marton looks in that suit, clean-shaven and dangerous.

"Put your hands on the counter," Karl growls, and Marton smiles, a bit condescendingly in the mirror.

"Haven't done this in a while, boyo. Still think we're playing like it was back at home?"

Karl's response is a glare and he's behind Marton, so it's not that hard to shove him forward, to grab both his hands and force them where he wants them. "You left. I didn't," he replies, simply enough. Marton doesn't struggle, but he's still smiling at Karl in the reflection and it's infuriating. "I still play by the same rules."

"Weren't aware you ever played by _any_ rules, Karl."

He gets a bite on the neck for his troubles, head yanked back by a hand in his hair, and Karl's teeth press over the mark, lingering, worrying the bruise deeper. It's Marton's last day shooting, and of course this is why Karl's waited, wanting to rough up the polished exterior a bit without anyone asking questions. He's never been able to play very carefully with his toys.

Karl snarls and lifts his eyes to meet Marton's in the mirror, finds that they're closed and smiles in triumph at the effect his teeth have apparently had. Marton did always like biting.

He runs his lips lightly over the mark, smiling roguishly at his own reflection, and gets Marton's fly undone quickly, drops the expensive trousers to the floor and tugs the well-fitted black pants down with them. "Still like being fucked, Marty?" he murmurs as he fits his fist around Marton's cock, indulging the other man with a few slow strokes.

"Don't know, Karl. Do you still talk too much?" Marton opens his eyes, meets Karl's in the mirror in challenge, and yeah, that's all it takes for Karl to get his jeans open, get the condom out and on and jam a couple of fingers in as hard as he can, dry. Marton squints his eyes shut, makes a moan that is definitely this side of pain, and his body doesn't give. Karl grunts, frustrated, and gives up, raising his fingers to Marton's lips.

Marton gives him an incredulous look, and Karl nudges harder, pressing the bottom lip down from clenched teeth. "You want it dry?"

It probably wouldn't even work, but Marton evidently has no desire to test the theory and opens up, sucking on Karl's fingers with a quiet efficiency.

"Good boy," Karl murmurs, and he ignores the responding snarl because he likes the idea of Marton tasting his own musk far too much. Reaching down again, his fingers slide in a bit easier, still not perfect but it does the job. Marton grimaces, but he's still hard and he isn't protesting verbally, so Karl isn't concerned.

Marton's hands slide further apart on the counter, bracing his body in place, and Karl moves his fingers insistently until Marton finally starts to open up. His head hangs between his shoulders and Karl lowers his own head to nibble lightly at Marton's nape, hearing the hitch in Marton's breath and knowing that it's helping. Marton grunts a bit after a moment, not quite a moan but Karl decides he's waited long enough. He draws his fingers out and pushes in with his cock, nudging the hole until the muscles finally part enough to let him in. His chin rests on the bump of bone at the top of Marton's spine, and his hands clench Marton's hips as he pushes forward as far as he can, aided by the lubricant on the condom.

"Fuck, Karl," Marton grates out once Karl's pulled back and tried to thrust a few times, using his cock to loosen Marton's body. "Give me a hand?"

Karl smirks and obliges because he's actually behaving rather quite well for Marton. He licks his palm first, and it glides easily along Marton's cock, warm and heavy in his hand as he establishes a pattern with his fist. He slows his movements a little so that he can listen for the little sounds Marton makes when he's starting to get to that place, little moans and occasionally even a whimper. His eyes flick up to the mirror and Marton's head is still down, so he can't see his face, but he can see Marton's cock flushed an angry dark rose colour in his hand, and he can see Marton's wrinkled shirt and the way his muscled arms absorb the power of Karl's thrusts.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually the signs are there—Marton's breathing is coming a bit quicker, more laboured, and the sounds are harder for him to keep from getting past his lips. His eyes are resolutely shut, and his hips move in counterpoint to Karl's thrusts, fucking his fist. Karl's lips curl up in a feral grin when Marton finally grunts, comes, and coats his hand with semen. Marton looks up in the mirror then, and Karl is still smiling, his hips stuttering harder as his hand slides down to rest flat on Marton's pubic bone, damp and slowly softening cock caught between thumb and forefinger. Marton meets his eyes in a challenge and doesn't let go, and finally Karl comes, dropping his teeth to Marton's shoulder as an afterthought.

A week later, the studio sends Karl the dry-cleaning bill.


End file.
